


World Enough And Time

by cruelest_month



Series: Samson & Del [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Falling In Love, Friendship, Kissing, M/M, Romance, Sexual Content, Traveling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 03:22:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3752623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelest_month/pseuds/cruelest_month
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Traveling to Orlais and back again, allows Del to gather more companions. Accompanying him makes Samson grow even more attached.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TCRegan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/gifts).



*

“It is merely something I wish to understand,” Cassandra said once the rest of them had cleared out including a very reluctant Del. 

“Told you,” Samson insisted. “I met him in the Bannorn and we hit it off. As to why he’s clinging to me like a barnacle... I’m just as baffled as anyone else.”

This was not their first conversation on a matter which Rutherford found “most disconcerting.” Before and after they’d decided to become the Inquisition, Del had focused solely on Samson, often refusing to have a reaction until he knew what Samson’s was. And it had been uncertain as to whether he would even attend meetings if Samson wasn’t there. 

After finding Mother Giselle and being told her ought to go to Val Royeaux after all, it had become fairly clear that Del would do whatever was asked of him if he got Samson. The others hadn’t really liked that bit of bargaining. As if it somehow was outside of the realm of possibility that the Herald of Andraste would warrant such an escort. 

“If you aren’t going to give him a better position,” Del had said, “or give me a better reason, I get to take him with. Otherwise you’re welcome to go to Orlais in my stead. I certainly don’t want to without proper incentive.”

And Del had gotten exactly what he’d wanted in the end. Leliana had seemed amused and Josephine had nodded approvingly. Rutherford had regarded Del with narrowed eyes and Cassandra had done about the same. It was far from ideal, really. Four people leading a group and constantly pairing off so that they could argue all the livelong day and never decide on a damn thing. But Samson kept this opinion to himself, concerned that they would pick a leader and that it would be one of them. 

“Not as much as some," Cassandra said. "If you have a theory, I would like to hear it.”

“All right,” Samson replied. “My theory would be that becoming part of something full of so many chantry-types is terrifying for a mage. His execution has been requested at least three times now by that Chancellor.”

“A ridiculous request, and one that has since been dismissed.”

“Yeah, dismissed,” Samson agreed. “Which is hardly anything at all by way of a reaction considering he’s still here. Del saw him just this morning on our way in.”

“The Chancellor was allowed to petition for such an absurd sequence of events without any repercussions because we cannot be seen as the Inquisition of old. People must be allowed to speak their minds.”

“There are always repercussions,” Samson said. “You’re looking at them.”

“If I did not know you as well as I do I might believe you were angry that you were not promoted in Cullen’s stead.”

“I’d be angry if it had been me,” Samson said. “Don’t need a whole new mess of problems. Rutherford’s an ideal Commander. He’ll like the job. He can send soldiers on his little errands and play with his little table.”

Cassandra sighed. “You know that makes him your Commander as well.” 

Samson shrugged. “Look, I do my part and I’ll do whatever work you give me, but you know I don’t buy into most of this. I can’t tell you why, but I believe in Del. At least, I believe he’s doing the best he can. But the fact is, he got shoved into this, and he doesn’t like it.”

“We do not have time to coddle the Herald of Andraste.”

Samson couldn’t imagine what Cassandra’s idea of coddling actually looked like. No doubt it ended with poor Del’s arm or spine broken. 

“Then it’s a good thing he’s looking to me and not the rest of you for a bit of comfort. You don’t mind sending me off with him anymore than you mind going along. You just don’t like him trying to weigh in or tell the lot of you what to do. Especially when he got results.”

Cassandra crossed her arms. “I am not opposed to his having an opinion, and I do not mind that he won that particular argument. And I am not eager for many more of these meetings where we go round and round in circles.”

“Then what is the problem? Just send me where you send him.”

“And just allow you to make his decisions for him?”

“Is that what I’ve been doing? I think I’ve been standing here and trying to look like I don’t give two shits if he goes and helps the templars who don’t deserve a damn thing. I think I’ve held my tongue plenty when, if it were up to me, we’d already be at Redcliffe helping those mages. Del’s still considering his options last I checked, and of course he’s looking to me. He _likes_ me. He looks to Josephine as well because he likes her. He’d prefer you let Solas and Varric into the discussions, but of course you won’t.”

Cassandra sighed. “He should like the rest of us.”

“I’ve no doubt that he will in time." 

“Then tell me. What is the difficulty?”

Samson laughed. “You’re busy scowling, Rutherford’s been pretty vocal in how he feels about Andraste sending us ‘some half-wit mage,’ and Leliana’s off her nut.”

“That is not entirely fair.”

“Not entirely wrong either.”

Cassandra made her signature disgusted noise. “Very well. You will go with him.”

Samson nodded stiffly. “Thanks.” He didn’t tell her he’d have gone with or without her approval. He imagined she was smart enough to know that already.

*

Del was waiting outside of the chantry with old reliable Roderick keeping him company. The Chancellor was looking smug. Del looked tired and uncertain. He visibly brightened when he saw Samson though.

The Chancellor was in the middle of yet another charming pep talk. “Better prepare yourself for the blame you’ll be rightly assigned.” 

“And you,” Samson growled out, “had best run off. And I mean with your legs rather than your mouth.” 

“I can say—”

“Try it,” Samson said. “Just try and say something else. See where it gets you.”

The Chancellor frowned, but he did not offer up a reply.

Samson made a shooing motion, and at last the man moved on.

“I never know what to do,” Del said quietly. “Every time he does that, a thousand replies come to mind, but I can’t…”

“The sad part is, you’re doing what you ought to do,” Samson said with a sigh. “Can’t be like him. Can’t be the sort making others feel like shit.”

“Because I’m the Herald.”

“Because,” Samson said, kissing Del’s cheek, “you’re better than that.”

Del didn’t need much more prompting to wrap his arms around Samson. “Are you still coming with? I told them the truth back there. I’m not going without you. Not there. Not after…”

“I know, and I am. We’re coming back after that, and as soon as you please. Might want to do some shopping though. I’m sure there’s better clothes to be had. Leather’s a good look on you but something more colorful would suit you better.”

“I’m still not looking forward to it.”

“Yes, well, neither am I,” Samson said. “No one looks forward to Orlais. You want to go back to your cabin?”

“I do.”

Samson took Del’s hand and headed in that direction.

“Oh... Do you mind coming with? I didn’t even ask.”

“Of course I don’t.”

Del frowned thoughtfully. “Does it effect your job or…”

Samson shrugged. “Doubtful. Never been one for steady employment anyway. I’m not the most ambitious man you’ll liable to meet.”

“That’s not true. I just… I wasn’t saying that Cullen can’t do the job. Just that you could do it too. I’m not sure why my pointing that out was such a problem.”

“Because Cullen was in the room?”

Del sighed. 

“Why does this matter so much to you?”

“You could have been Commander.”

“Not sure I can see it. I’m a soldier, always have been. The orders though… Don’t get much in the way of good ones. I’m sure you’re my best bet. Besides, a Commander gets stuck commanding. You want me around you, close and cozy? Then leave it. Don’t bring it up again.”

“I won’t.”

“But do keep pushing for things, all right? Best way to get respect is to force people to give it to you.”

“I thought you were supposed to let your actions prove that you were worthy. Lead by example or something.”

“Not when you’re dealing with people who still wish they could just bury their heads in the sand. And, Del…”

Del smiled as Samson stopped. Then he frowned, confused when Samson put his hands on his shoulders. “Yes?”

“Don’t worry so much about what’ll happen to me. Or what I can and can’t get. I do all right for myself.”

“I have to. Worry, I mean. If something happens to you, I couldn’t do this.”

“You—” 

“No,” Del said, visibly upset. “I couldn’t. I’d be lost.”

Samson brushed a finger over Del’s cheek. “Well, I’m not going anywhere. And where are you going?”

“With you.”

“Right so we’re both going to be fine.”

Del sighed heavily, leaning against Samson and kissing his hair. “Thank you.”

Samson wondered how it was that someone, anyone, could be so often and easily grateful for just his mere presence. But he found that the more he was told as much, the more he wished to be told so time and time again. “You’re welcome,” he said a bit roughly. “It’s no trouble at all.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is 5 chapters so I'll be posting 2 today and then the remaining 3 over the next few days.
> 
> Thank you to TCRegan for reading a most of this over as I wrote it. It helped so much! I do not currently have a beta though so any typos/mistakes are my own.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Some sexual content in the first section.

*

Del was a bit afraid of the water. He bit his lip as they walked up the ship’s gangplank, digging his fingers into Samson’s arm.

Samson sorely would have liked to carry him only there were other people around. Their cabin, since all of what Del had inevitably became Samson’s, was on the smallish side, but it was better than the hammocks the others would get below deck.

Del set his pack down in a corner, and Samson did the same.

“How did you make it from Ostwick to Ferelden?” Samson asked.

“Nervously. Nauseously. But we had to.”

“Must have been terrified,” Samson murmured. “Well, it’s all right. Ship like this is sturdy and it should be smooth sailing.”

“All right,” Del said quietly, curling up on the bed. He looked a bit like a stricken kitten, which meant Samson couldn’t resist sitting on the end of the mattress and stroking his hair.

“You doing all right?” Samson asked.

“It’s just that I don’t like this sort of thing.”

“I know that. I meant the hand and such. You closed more rifts in the Hinterlands.”

“That didn’t hurt,” Del said. “At least, not really. It feels strange. It’s not like the sort of magic I’ve always had. It’s different, and sometimes I feel like it doesn’t belong to me at all.”

Right. Time for a subject change then. The point was to distract Del, but not with thoughts of how he might or might not be the victim of some sort of forbidden magic spell. “What sort of things do you think you’d like to buy in Val Royeaux?”

“I don’t… I’m not sure. I’ve never really… I mean, I’ve bought things but I’ve not spent a lot of time in a shop before, but…”

“Well, of course,” Samson said soothingly. He slowly worked on getting Del to spread out, putting the mattress to more use. He took Del’s wrists in his, kissing his lips and then just lying down all but on top of him. “I think you’ll like it, you know. And just because you’ve never been shopping for more than essentials, doesn’t mean you can’t have notions of things you would buy if you had the coin for it.”

“What would you like?”

“I asked,” Samson murmured, leaning in and nipping at Del’s pretty neck, “you first.”

“I…”

“Just one thing. Think about it as you get this shirt out of the way. Trousers too.”

Del smiled shyly, complying once Samson had let go of his wrists. He unbuttoned the shirt and undid the laces on his breeches hurriedly, but his expression was thoughtful.

Samson dealt with his own clothing at a similarly fast pace before kissing Del thoroughly. As he kissed his way down Del’s chest, he asked: “What’s the one thing you’d buy then?”

Del stroked his fingers over Samson’s arms and smiled. “A journal. You?”

“A better shield.”

“Do you need a new one? We could—”

Del gasped as Samson began licking at the length of his cock. Samson let his fingers rest on Del’s bucking hips before he wrapped his lips around him. He started with a slow lick before sucking gently. Del’s pale fingers curled in his brown hair as Del bit back a soft moan. He took him in deeper; tugging Del further along the mattress until Del finally climaxed.

By then, the ship was underway.

Samson swallowed, smirking in satisfaction as he glanced up. Del hadn’t done much, had barely touched himself in the Circle. They had progressed from kissing to blowjobs and they were slowly on their way to other better pursuits. Del, for the most part, stayed on the receiving end because sometimes he seemed…skittish and a little shy when he got to his knees.

Some coaxing and praise had helped matters, which was good, as the sight of Del on his knees was… Well, Samson wanted Del there and often, but he wanted it to be good for both of them. There was nothing Del wouldn’t do for him, and sometimes Samson found it difficult still to do anything that might constitute taking advantage.

“I still… A shield,” Del managed, still fixated on Samson’s hypothetical purchase. “Oh. Should I…”

 _Stop doing things for me,_ Samson wanted to say, _you are always trying to do things for me. Already. And I don’t know what to do for you. Not really._

Samson kissed Del’s cheek. “Not when you might get sea sick.”

“Oh, but Samson…”

“You’ll make it up to me once we’re back on dry land, surely.”

Del smiled. “Yes. I’d like that.”

“Until then, I’ll take a kiss and your hand.”

“My hand?”

Samson took Del’s unmarked hand and put it where he wanted it. He gave Del a meaningful look.

Del turned pink, but he looked eager. “Oh. I… All right. Can we switch places so I can?”

“Whatever you’d like.”

Del sat up and Samson stretched out on the bed, smirking when he got a kiss to the lips first. Del was fond of kissing. He groaned as Del’s fingers stroked him, the movement was steady but frustratingly slow.

“Tell me about the shield,” Del suggested.

Samson groaned a bit more as Del’s fingers moved quickly and then even slower than before. “Hm. Just a shield. Gotta look after you, don’t I? Bit harder, Del. There. Good. Had a good one once. Sold it.”

Del’s lips returned to Samson’s, his hand tugged gently and moved quicker. It wasn’t long before Samson was done.

“What happened?” Del asked quietly, warming water in a basin before cleaning them both off.

“Needed…” Samson sighed. They hadn’t discussed this much. No, they hadn’t discussed this at all. He sighed. Then he sat upright and pulled Del back to him. Samson nibbled on a bare shoulder until he got a little laugh out of Del. Then Samson sighed again.

“It was the right thing,” Samson said, “helping my friend, but it meant losing access to certain things. Lyrium. I wasn’t strong enough to quit, but I couldn’t pace myself. They do that, the ones higher up. Give you doses but only every now and then. On my own, I could have all the lyrium I could buy. And I couldn't afford much of anything.”

Del shifted in his arms, kissing Samson’s forehead. Then his cheek. “And the shield?”

“A gift. A sun shield from a Knight-Commander named Guylian. I loved that thing once. I was proud of it too. Proud of what it represented. I would have had to sell it, one way or another, living the way I did. In the sewers of Kirkwall with the other unwanteds and helping mages escape. But that’s not why I sold it. I sold it because that day it seemed like the one thing keeping me from having more dust.”

“Are you…” Del trailed off, looking worried.

“I’ll always be. Cullen and Cassandra got me back on track. Cullen did one better, of course. Got himself off of it, and for good. Me? It’s just less. One vial twice a month. I get headaches. Other small things. They pass.”

“But you’re all right?”

“Most of the time, sure.”

“All right because you promised that we’ll do this together.”

“Promised?” Samson asked. He might have teased Del about it if he hadn’t look so very concerned. “Well, I suppose I did.”

Del brushed a hand through Samson’s hair. “And I can make something for your headaches, you know. I can look after you.”

“I’d hardly expect it, but I’d like that,” Samson admitted, a little baffled by the offer. But he didn’t feel the way the others did about Del’s level of competency. If Del wanted to look after him, well, that was fine.

“Can you have promised more flowers?” Del asked sleepily. “I liked that.”

“Well, of course. What else?”

Del was stroking the dark hair on Samson’s left arm. He yawned as he looked up. “Hm?”

“What else would you like?”

“Does there have to be other things?” Del asked quietly. “I’m sure there will be, but I don’t really… I don’t need much. Or at least I feel like I have enough right now.”

Samson wondered if that was entirely true, or if Del didn’t want too many things because the more he had the more that could be taken away from him. Or was it that Del didn’t mind going without if it meant Del could keep… But that was ridiculous. Who would happily give things up just to keep him?

“Do you really feel that way? Is this actually enough?”

Del blinked. As he stared intently at Samson, he seemed serenely contemplative. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Me and some flowers,” Samson said, clearing his throat. “Well, that’s hardly anything.”

“Flowers aren’t much in of themselves,” Del said, kissing Samson’s jaw. “But you’re everything.” He hugged Samson gently as though worried he’d hurt him somehow. “You’re everything that I’ve wanted.”

If he’d been braver, Samson might have asked why. Instead, he just rested his head against Del’s hair.

*

After spending the voyage primarily in his cabin with Samson nearby, Del was cheerful and confident as they disembarked.

The others seemed amused for the most part, Solas in particular. Samson could tell Varric was making mental notes on some terrible book he was planning. As they headed into the city from the port, Cassandra was a bit relieved when Del spoke to her without trying to put Samson between them.

“It’s so wide open,” Del said, looking around him as they entered the market square. He seemed particularly impressed by all the marble statues and gold lions.

His enthusiasm was trampled to death shortly thereafter during the argument the ensued between clerics, Inquisition members, templars, and Lord Seeker Lucius.

Grandstanding bullshit and the counterproductive drawing of lines in the sand seemed just as contagious here as in Haven. This was how people like Dumar ran a city straight into the ground. How a Knight-Commander like Meredith got their hands on red lyrium without anyone noticing. How a leader like Divine Justinia got killed by some shadowy mad man. How chantries and temples full of men and women got destroyed to force some sort of change. Because no one wanted to do anything that made any sort of logical sense.

Maker forbid they should work together in a time of crisis. Never mind that the sky was on fire with strange green light. Who didn’t have time for philosophical, theological, and ethical debates?

It didn’t help, Samson supposed, that anyone actually of substance had died in the Conclave. Why was it that situations like this could only lead to the rise of a single hero who was thwarted at every turn? Why was everyone else so bloody pointless?

A messenger and an arrow provided a distraction, however. After they sorted out the weird red handkerchief clues from the alleged friends of Red Jenny, they stopped to have lunch in a café. They picked a table directly underneath the head of some high dragon.

Agreeing to meet back at the inn before meeting the first of the strange people who seemed vaguely interested in signing up for the Inquisition, they all went their separate ways.

Samson took Del into a bookstore. He’d been a bit listless, but he perked up once he found the herbalism section. After making sure, Del was distracted; Samson looked through the leather-bound journals available.

One of them was bright blue with a sculpted blue moth in the left-hand corner. It felt like the right choice. And it felt wrong not to haggle, especially when the merchant charged extra to wrap the damn thing, but he paid for it quickly. Then he shoved the parcel into Del’s satchel. Samson didn’t have a pack or pocket big enough. That was a good thing about mages who were fond of making potions and herbs. They always had a bag with them.

“Don’t look,” Samson said. “I’m officially giving whatever it is to you later.”

Del laughed. He smiled fondly, clearly tempted to point out the obvious. That they were in a bookstore and so it had to have been a book. “All right. I won’t.”

Their next stop was a series of Orlesian formal gardens after that since they were only a short carriage ride away.

Samson was not one for plants, flowers, or Oreslian arrangements, but he followed Del rather dutifully around the grounds. He refused, however, to wander through a very hedge maze because the man who monitored it kept insisting they take a flagpole with them in case they got lost. Samson had told the man where to stick the pole and then dragged Del off.

Instead, they were on a guided tour. Samson listened obediently to how each section of the garden was a chamber, and how the grass and flowers were planted to grow into a living tapestry. All of it was, in a word, tedious, but it made Del happy.

While Del asked a thousand questions of their tour guide, Samson wandered off on his own. All was well until he plucked some purple and orange flowers, causing such an uproar that he kept looking around to see if the entire place on fire.

In his defense, he had been merely considering other things that made Del happy. He hadn’t realized how rare the stupid things were.

All the same, it was just as well when they were banished from the garden forever. And Samson kept the flowers. “In exchange,” he said, “for keeping my temper.”

Back in the carriage, he braided them together in an effort to justify his refusal to surrender them at the gate.

Del, thankfully, found the situation as amusing as Samson did. “I imagine we will be the first people with Wanted Posters hanging from elaborate hedges outside of an Orlesian garden.”

“Not the first,” Samson said. “Eighth or ninth couple, I’d imagine.”

“You really should have left them alone. They only bloom once a year for six hours.”

“Good day for it,” Samson observed, “and seeing as we were visiting, they should belong to you. Lean forward.” He placed the crown of flowers in Del’s hair. “There. Suits you.”

“I can only blame myself, I suppose,” Del said with a small smirk. “I did ask for flowers.”

“That you did.”

Del leaned towards Samson’s side of the coach, falling neatly into Samson’s lap when a bump pitched him forward. “Hello.”

“Hello,” Samson said with a smirk. He gathered Del up in his arms and kissed him. “Something I can help you with?”

Del smiled, putting his arms around Samson’s neck. “Yes. Can I see what you got for me?”

“I have quite a few things for you,” Samson pointed out with a low growl. “Many things I’d like to show you,” he added, kissing at Del’s throat.

Del blushed, pushing Samson away from his neck. “Oh, don’t. I want the gift first.”

“And if I think I’m deserving a present?”

Del frowned.

“What?”

“I didn’t get you anything.”

“I’m not so sure. I like what I’ve got,” Samson said, gripping Del’s ass. He looked so sweet, blushing and wearing flowers in his hair. Perfect and pretty. It was so strange to have someone like this, and yet… “I’m going to have to keep you.”

Del squirmed a bit, turning a darker shade of pink. “Oh, but… Samson…”

“Hm?”

“Please can I have my gift?”

“Of course you can.” Samson kissed Del’s cheek, letting his arms slide back under Del’s knees instead. “Of course.”

“Thank you,” Del said, kissing Samson back.

Happily, Del’s satchel had rolled over to Samson’s side of the coach. Samson rifled through it with one hand, smiling when Del tightened his grip on him. “You all right?”

“Yes. Perfectly.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 will be posted tomorrow afternoon (Thursday).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Del and Samson meet Sera.

*

Grand Enchanter Fiona had been waiting for them in front of their inn, which was odd to say the least. Even stranger considering the fact that she left shortly after inviting them to visit Redcliffe. 

While they all found the encounter both suspicious and unhelpful, it didn’t seem worth dwelling on. Their evening plans were to find the Friends of Red Jenny, and see if they could be… Well, friends. Or, at least, allies. Samson mainly wanted to learn if had been even remotely worth picking up those red scraps throughout the marketplace.

First, they all separated for dinner and to see just what sort of rooms they’d been given.

“I imagine Fiona will explain her being in Orlais once we find her again,” Samson suggested.

Del shrugged at first, setting his flowers down on a small table under their room’s solitary window. He’d already strapped the new journal to his belt along with all the assorted nonsense he seemed to carry around. Still, at least Del had a dagger in addition to his staff. It was more than likely for his herb-collecting, but in a fight, it could prove useful. 

“I’m not sure why she didn’t speak to our scouts stationed in the Hinterlands,” Del said, staring out the window. “Still. If she was willing to make the trip here, I suppose I ought to make the trip to Redcliffe. I mean, I’m certainly willing. I should like to speak to more mages.”

Samson let his hands rest on Del’s waist before kissing the side of his neck. “Had your fill of clerics and templars?” he asked.

“Something like that. And seeing as the others haven’t made a decision, maybe I can make one instead.”

“You should be doing that regardless.”

Del sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m in no way qualified.”

“Who is?”

“You would be. If you had this,” Del said, holding up his marked hand.

“Me?” Samson snorted. “Hardly, Del. It’s all right though. Wishing so much wasn’t up to you.”

“Is it?” Del asked, looking down. “Because it seems dangerous. Wanting something can cause problems.”

“If the act of wishing for an impossible thing summoned up a demon every time, we’d be more plagued by the damned things than we already are.”

“That’s not what we’re told… Even as an ex-templar, shouldn’t you—”

Samson gently turned Del around, clasping his shoulders. “Listen, I understand what it’s like to get well and truly desperate. You’re not desperate, not even remotely. You’re just doubting yourself and feeling guilty for it. It’s likely to happen from time to time.”

“Less so with you around.”

“Whatever helps,” Samson agreed.

They headed downstairs and then out to a less attractive corner of the city with Cassandra, Varric, and Solas in tow. The streets were dimly-lit and cobblestone. The alleyways were cramped and narrow. 

“I’d bet five gold that not a one of those uppity chantry folk we met this morning bothers to come down here,” Samson said. “Ever. Too afraid of getting dirty.”

“Or robbed,” Cassandra pointed out. “I should not like to imagine elderly sisters coming to a place such as this.”

“I’m not big on dirt myself,” Varric said.

“Dirt or not, you cannot represent people if you are never among them,” Solas observed.

“Exactly,” Samson said. 

The notes led them to past docks and taverns. Then past the alienage because of course the elves lived in the seediest parts of any given town. Servants were returning home, worn out from their days' work. A little elven boy frantically scanned the crowd, worrying at a bruised lip. When a woman wearing a plain mask of everite scooped him up, the child latched onto to her, speaking rapidly.

Del watched this with a thin, sad smile before turning away. “If they won’t help with the sky, they ought to help here,” he said quietly. 

“True change comes from those who gain something from it,” Solas explained. “Those in power here believe, as most men do, that they will gain nothing from helping those without.”

“But if you don’t help, what good is it? Power, I mean?”

“Some would prefer to treat it as they would their coin. Some see their power as a shield from harm. Others wield theirs like a sword against real or imagined threats.”

Del eyed Solas worriedly. “But not always, surely not.”

“Some might use their power as a staff instead.”

Samson frowned. “Not sure I think of a staff as being much different from a sword.”

“Of course you do,” Solas argued. “A mage’s staff can be a weapon, certainly. It can also be an aid when injured or climbing a thorny path. When sheathed, a staff is merely a symbol of the mage to whom it belongs. It can be as unique as the man or woman who carries it. The same can be said of power.”

Del nodded. “Mutable and transformative,” he said thoughtfully. 

Solas smiled. “Precisely.”

“It always comes back to mages and what they can do,” Varric moodily observed. “And what they do is usually a pain in the ass for the rest of us.”

Cassandra, who had been listening rather intently to Solas, considered the group. Samson wasn’t always certain with Cassandra. She was more like Cullen in certain ways, but like Samson she didn’t have much tact and she was plenty stubborn. They’d butted heads more times than goats, and they rarely agreed, but she’d stood up for and by him. And although he rarely was on the receiving end of her good opinion, Samson admired her just the same.

“There is much that others can teach us,” Cassandra said. “In the proper place and time. For now, it would be wise to move on.”

*

Eventually they arrived in a courtyard that, like so much of what they’d seen, was full of dirt, rats, and sacks of cloth. And, of course, Orlesians to kill.

As they passed from one section to another, a fireballs shot out at Del. He dodged them easily enough and then placed a barrier over everyone before they continued into the room.

A rather small, masked man stood in front of them. “Herald of Andraste! How much did you expend to discover me? It must have weakened the Inquisition immeasurably.” 

“…I don’t know who you are,” Del pointed out. He was, as they all were, a little baffled by this introduction. 

The short Orlesian placed his hands on his hips. “You don’t fool me.” He struck a pose, one foot in front of the other. “I’m too important for this to be an accident.”

“Too something,” Samson muttered.

“My efforts will survive in victories against you elsewhere.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Del said. “That is, I do think you should go elsewhere but a fight is hardly—” 

There was the sound of an arrow flying, and a masked guard near the base of the stairs cried out. 

The man toppled over, and behind him was a blond elf with a bow and a quiver full of arrows. 

“Say what,” she prompted, looking to the masked Orlesian.

“What is the—”

And she shot him in the throat. 

The man made a gurgling sound and then fell over backwards on the arrow. Samson winced reflexively. Out of the corner of his eye, he observed Cassandra was doing the same. Well, at least he had died quickly, that was something.

There was a quiet whimper from Del, who was back to hiding behind Samson, clutching at the shield still strapped to Samson’s back.

“You never meet anyone normal in this line of work,” Varric said, glancing at Del. “I doubt she’s going to hurt you, you know.”

“Ugh,” the elf said, moving towards them. “Squishy one, but you heard me, right? Just say what. Rich tits always try for more than they deserve. Blah blah,” she crouched down over the Orlesian, “blah.” She tugged the arrow out of his neck, inspecting it as she got back to her feet. “Obey me. Arrow in my face.”

“Maybe you could do a little less of that,” Samson suggested, absently reaching hand back and patting Del’s cheek. “Just a thought.”

“You followed the notes well enough,” the girl said, studying Samson. “You’re… kind of plain, really. All that talk and you’re just a person. I mean, it’s all good, innit? The important thing is, you… But you don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Samson asked.

“Glow,” she said. She tilted her head, considering the rest of them. “Not glowing. Not glowing… Which of you glows?” Eventually she glanced over Samson’s shoulder. “It’s you then. You’re the Herald thingy. Well? Hello. Something wrong with him?”

“It’s the arrow to the face,” Samson pointed out. “It’s never deterred people before, I’m guessing. You’re right though. This is… Oh for fuck’s sake, Del.” He turned slightly, trying to figure out a way to pry Del off of him. “Let’s talk to her, all right?”

The elf rolled her eyes. “That one's not going to faint, is he?”

“No, but I’ve never seen such a pointless display. He was hardly a threat. Why did you kill him?” Del demanded, moving to stand next to Samson. 

“No idea. I don’t know this idiot from manners. My people just said the Inquisition should look at him.”

“Your people? Elves?” Del asked, sounding a bit incredulous. 

She laughed. “No. People people. Name’s Sera,” she added before pointing to a box. “This is cover. Get round it. Or hide behind your man. Whichever. For the reinforcements. Someone tipped me their equipment shed. They’ve got no breeches.”

Mercenaries began swarming into the courtyard.

“Why didn’t you take their weapons?” Samson shouted.

Sera laughed loudly. “Because no breeches!”

“Am I meant to like her?” Del asked, putting up barriers and then using chain lightning. “Because I’m not entirely certain I do.”

His opinion seemed unlikely to change when, even with the battle over and done with, the girl was still laughing over whatever it was she’d done to the guards’ trousers.

Del rubbed his temples as she explained somewhat about herself and somewhat about the Friends of Red Jenny. It was all very vague, but Samson suspected it was because this was all Sera knew than that she was hiding anything. 

She seemed to resist mentioning breeches after bringing them up at least two more times. “Look,” Sera said, looking entirely earnest despite sounding half-mad, “do you need people or not? I want to get everything back to normal. Like you?”

Del bit his lip, looking at Samson. 

Samson shrugged his shoulders. Her disorganized Friends sounded like they were in need of direction. Sera certainly seemed to need guidance. Perhaps the Inquisition could benefit from them somehow. And maybe this was all just a dream and he was going to wake up in a lovely meadow full of butterflies. 

“She has a way with a bow and arrow,” Samson said to Del. “And she’s willing to help.” And she would, he was quite certain, drive Rutherford around the bend at least four or five times. If she proved to be utterly useless, she could always be dismissed.

“You’re the Herald,” Sera said after observing this exchange. “Why look to him? Look to yourself, right? What do you think?”

“I think I have no idea,” Del admitted. “I honestly don’t. Look, Sera, you sound like a thief who goes around acting out petty revenge fantasies.”

Sera smiled happily.

“And that’s _bad_ ,” Del insisted. “Very bad.”

She made a face, scrunching up her nose. “Oh, right. You want to prop that guy up so I can say my sorries? Bad things should happen to bad people. We find someone not so bad, maybe he’ll end up not so dead. Good enough?”

“You say that, but you didn’t know him. You shot him in the throat for saying 'what.'”

“I know _about_ him.”

“Through a reliable source or some rumor?” Samson asked.

“Look,” Sera said, crossing her arms, “I’d have been fine stripping his guards and nicking his stuff. Turns out, he deserved worse. Or was him trying to kill your man a good thing? Are you the baddie? Didn’t think so.”

“Leaving her here might be just as bad as taking her with us,” Cassandra pointed out. “At least if she joins the Inquisition, we can find work for her.”

“And I’m doing you the favor,” Sera declared. “So what’s it to be then?”

Del considered her carefully. “All right. We’ll give this a try. I will find a use for you and your friends.”

“Yes!” Sera said. “Get in good before you’re too big to like. That’ll keep your breeches where they should be. Plus extra breeches, because I have all these… You have merchants who buy that pish, yeah? Got to be worth something.”

“And I’d just like to point out that I’m sharing a room with Chuckles,” Varric said. 

“It is as he says,” Solas agreed. “The Seeker is the only one among us with a room of her own.”

Sera laughed, nudging Samson’s arm. “Isn’t gonna be a Herald of Andraste for long if he’s shacking up with you then, is he?”

“Let’s go back to the inn,” Del said, moving past them to be closer to Cassandra. 

Cassandra glanced back, lips curving up into a thin smile. Then she faced forward again, walking alongside Del. 

Samson sighed. Just what he’d always wanted. A long walk back with a crazy elf chatting away at him. The punishment hardly seemed to fit whatever his imagined crime was. All Samson had said was she was good with a bow and arrow, but the others didn’t leave him much of a choice. If nothing else, he supposed with another sigh, it was helping the rest of the group become a more cohesive unit.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I completely forgot to include this in the last chapter and I'll edit that later, but [this](https://www.etsy.com/listing/195694309/light-blue-leather-journal-sculpted?ref=related-3) is what Del's new journal is based on.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Del and Samson meet Vivienne.

*

The next afternoon, despite the gloomy overcast sky, Del and Samson attended a small party being held somewhat in the Inquisition’s honor but mostly because Orlesians were always throwing parties. 

Duke Ghislain was clearly some sort of close friend to the so-called Madame de Fer. Doubtlessly, Samson speculated, it was in the true Orlesian sense of the word. The chateau must have cost a pretty penny regardless of whose pocket it came out of, but he suspected that coin with which to fund the Inquisition was not what the lady had in mind.

Del seemed ill at ease. He kept fussing with the soft, blue uniform he’d been given. He’d also been following Samson like an obedient, baffled puppy. 

“Eat something,” Samson suggested. He started filling a small silver plate with tarts and other small bite-size bits of insubstantial, expensive nonsense. 

“I should like to. Only not this,” Del said stiffly and quietly. “It all smells depressing and looks it.”

“Determined to have a bad time of it, are we?”

“With everything else going on, mingling with Orlesians is not anywhere near the top of my to-do list.”

“I wonder if hosts not actually being here is how these events are meant to be,” Samson murmured, glancing about. “Only I'm certain they're right upstairs waiting to make a grand entrance. I hate that need rich snobs have for their dramatics.”

Del winced.

“Not you, you daft darling,” Samson said in fond exasperation. He kept himself from rolling his eyes but only because this was Del. “Might have started out as a noble with more money than either one of us could count, but you were as poor as a chantry mouse when I met you.”

“I... Well, that's true.”

Samson held out a tart. "Stop fretting and eat something."

Del made a face, but he took the pastry. Regrettably, this was done with Del's hand and not his lips, but then they were in the middle of a rather crowded ballroom.

“Terrible?” Samson asked.

“Sad,” Del said, shaking his head. “I don’t how or why you would make food taste sad but… I suppose it could be worse.”

“Oh, don’t be sad,” Samson insisted. “Think of something else then. If it were up to you, where would we be right now?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Just asked, didn’t I?”

Del hesitated, all but wringing his hands.

“Out with it,” Samson prodded.

“A house,” Del said, blushing significantly. “A little cottage, I think. With a vegetable garden. And a dog.”

Samson grinned. “Just the one dog?”

“Maybe a cat as well.”

Samson didn’t think the idea was entirely without merit. He was considering a casual way of saying so when there was a loud snort from somewhere to their left.

“Is this what the Inquisition sends?” a young man asked, descending a staircase. As he continued to speak and once he was done with the steps, he circled the room. His tone was mocking and, frankly, rather grating. “What a load of pig shit. I thought it was only washed-up sisters and crazed seekers. Not that you are much better. Whatever you are, it adds up to nothing. Everyone knows it’s just an excuse for a bunch of political outcasts to seize power.”

“Just how many masked Orlesian men are giving to give me a hard time exactly?” Del asked in reply. “I doubt you care, to be honest, but the Inquisition is working to restore peace and order to Thedas. We may be a rather motley organization but at least we’ve a bit of substance. And a unifying cause.”

“Oh yes! Here comes the outsider, restoring peace with an army!”

Del glanced around pointedly. “I don’t think the Captain here constitutes an entire army. Although he is quite formidable.”

“That’s right,” Samson agreed. “No army here, but maybe we left ours outside. Take a look and report back, will you?”

“Outside is where we should go. I insist upon it,” the man said, still focused on Del. “If you were a man of honor, you’d be only too eager to face me. To answer these charges.”

“Yes, well, an angry blowhard hardly warrants much in the way of honorable challenges. I, however,” Samson said, “would be quite interested in meeting you outside. Shutting fools up is a specialty of mine.”

The man snorted again, reaching behind him for his sword. And just like that, he was frozen in place. 

“My dear Marquis,” a woman said, “how unkind of you to use such language in my house… to my guests.” She was masked, elegantly dressed, and rather good-looking. Haughty as fuck but then she was yet another Orlesian. “You know such rudeness is… intolerable,” she added, approaching the marquis. 

“Madame Vivienne, I humbly beg your pardon!”

“You should,” she said, moving in front of him. “Whatever am I going to do with you, my dear?” Then Vivienne turned, looking at Del. “You’re the wounded party in this unfortunate affair. What would you have me do with this foolish, foolish man?”

Del considered her and although his expression was moderately neutral, Samson imagined he was thinking that Vivienne could have not froze the idiot in the first place. “Let him go,” he said with a shrug. 

“Poor Marquis,” Vivienne said, “issuing challenges and hurling insults like some Fereldan dog lord.”

Samson frowned. Honestly he had found the lack of subtlety a bit refreshing. Then again, he’d also been looking forward to teaching the boy a lesson outside. 

In the mean time, Vivienne had snapped her fingers. The marquis began coughing and rubbing at his numb shoulders. She offered up a few more pointed barbs until the stupid shit was forced to slink away.

She smirked, watching him go and then turned her attention to Del. “I should like to speak with you, my dear. You can wait here, I trust,” she added with a quick, dismissive glance at Samson.

Samson managed to keep himself from rolling his eyes. “Of course, Madame.”

Del frowned, but reluctantly followed the woman into another section of the chateau.

Samson got himself more of the finger food and then he found a corner to stand in. He glowered a bit at the one or two women who seemed to be eying him from a distance. And then Del was back, looking rather upset and a little angry. 

It was a bit surprising when Del kept walking, ignoring the dance floor entirely and heading for the main entrance. Del had a gift for the gab, and he’d put up with Sera a good deal longer than this. Samson flung his silver plate in the direction of a side table, and quickly caught up with him.

“Last of the loyal mages,” Del was muttering under his breath. “Loyal to your own interests maybe. You can’t be a loyal mage and turn your back on your people.”

“She’s not coming with us, I take it.”

Del answered only once they were outside. “I told her if she wishes to help, she can speak to my Ambassador and that something can be arranged.”

“What did she say?”

“Oh, something about the Commandments of the Maker. How she honors each and every one of them unlike some. Unlike me in other words.” 

When they arrived at the carriage, Del circled round to the front where one of the Inquisition’s scouts was chatting up the driver. “There’s a young man, a marquis named Alphonse. I want him located and I want him to understand that I desire nothing so much as to forget our conversation altogether. This evening, once I’ve time to compose a letter, I will need it to be taken directly to Ambassador Montilyet.”

The scout hopped down immediately. “Yes, ser,” she said. “Straightaway, ser.”

Samson snorted as the girl dashed off. “You’re going to help that moron out?”

“Yes, although I’ll leave straightening out the matter with his aunt to Josephine,” Del said with a sigh. “I realize I don’t need to help him. I know that I probably shouldn’t, but I didn’t want for him to end up dead because I didn't—”

“Whatever happened or will happen to him is his own doing,” Samson insisted. "But…help if you must. If it makes it easier for you, then do it, all right?”

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. Can’t stop you if you’ve made up your mind to do it, now can I?”

Del smiled fondly before telling the driver he wished to return to their inn at once. He sighed heavily once they were in the coach, resting his head against Samson’s shoulder.

“Not much for other people, are you?” Samson asked, running a hand through Del’s hair. “I guess we’re a bit alike after all then.”

“A bit,” Del echoed. “Do you think we can go back to Ferelden now?”

“As soon as you’d like,” Samson agreed.

“Good. It’s just… I find that I can’t take much more of Orlais. I don’t like the food. I can’t stand most of the people… I’d prefer to just not bother with it at all.”

“Fair enough for the time being, Del… But I suspect we’ll be back here whether you like it or not,” Samson said. “Just a hunch, mind, but we can’t avoid an entire country when the world’s full of rifts and the sky has a hole in it.”

“I suppose not,” Del admitted. “But I don’t have to like it.”

Samson chuckled. “There is that.”

*

Back in Haven, Samson spent most of his late afternoon at the village's solitary and sad tavern. The size of the place and the number of people clustered throughout it made him feel a bit claustrophobic, but then everything in Ferelden seemed small after Orlesian nonsense.

There had been a brief meeting in regards to Val Royeaux, which Samson had barely paid attention to. It consisted mainly of complaining about how other groups of people, and Del putting little markers in the places where he wanted operations completed. 

The most important thing Samson had noted during the meeting was that someone had spent an awful lot of time painting details onto each of the markers. That someone was most certainly Rutherford. How the man could sit around painting piles of nonsense while two lovely women were sleeping in on either side of him in a very, very small side room in the chantry… Well, it was completely beyond Samson's understanding.

They were off to the Storm Coast in the morning and then the Hinterlands. When Samson had finally left Del's side, Del had been chatting away with Solas. They both had been rather pointedly ignoring Sera who had been making faces at them from a nearby tree.

“So Orlais was a bust,” Samson muttered as Rutherford joined him.

“That's putting it rather lightly," Cullen said, "considering the one person you managed to recruit while there. Even Del doesn’t seem care for Sera. Yet.”

“What do you mean by ‘even Del’ and ‘yet’?”

Rutherford laughed. “He likes Cassandra already, and just a fortnight ago he hid behind you whenever she approached him.”

“She clapped him in irons when he was in a magical coma, and she all but growled at him that entire fortnight. And I’ll have you know Del has discerning taste," Samson insisted. He was irritated with Rutherford, but even more frustrated with himself for immediately rushing to Del's defense. All the same, he continued doing so. "There was another person who wanted to join. A Madame de Fer. She said something about being a loyal mage, and then Del stopped listening.”

Rutherford sighed. “Well, it’s a shame, I suppose, but if she’s going to lead with that while talking to a mage from the Free Marches… It’s hardly surprising that things didn't work out. We have a decent number of mages working for us as it is, but Josephine mentioned hearing from this de Fer person. She’ll help from Orlais, which I suspect suits everyone far better.”

“How are we on warriors?” Samson asked. “Because I’m a bit skeptical about recruiting a Qunari mercenary.”

“Heroes seem to attract all sorts,” Rutherford pointed out. “In addition to Leliana and King Alistair, Amell had a golem, an Antivan assassin who tried to kill him, a Kocari Witch of the Wilds, and, by all accounts, a very useless dwarf.”

“I’m pretty sure he didn’t have sex with the golem.”

Rutherford frowned. “And I’m certain I meant that he had them as companions.”

Samson smirked. “Dunno. The way you tell it, this Amell was quite the looker back in the day.”

“Why do I bother talking to you?”

“A question for the ages. Fancy a drink?”

“I can get my own, thank you.” Cullen glanced at the barmaid. “I’ll have the more expensive version of whatever he’s having.”

“Of course, Commander.”

“She’s pretty,” Cullen mused when the woman was off getting his drink.

“She’s with the bard.”

“Maryden?” Rutherford sighed. “There really is no accounting for taste.”

“Musical taste anyway,” Samson agreed just in time to get glared at as the bartender set Rutherford’s drink down. He might have cared more if he wasn’t with Del. Even then he wouldn’t have cared much. 

Rutherford paid her and then downed a considerable portion of his ale. Samson braced himself for whatever serious question was forthcoming. “I was meaning to ask you something.”

 _Of course you were._ “You know this is hardly the place for your badgering, right? A tavern is where people eat and drink and get merry either alone or with some help.”

Rutherford just sipped his drink.

“Oh very well... Ask then.”

“Will you be waiting until after you get back for your next dose?”

Samson sighed. “Ought to. Yeah. I’ll wait. How are you doing without them?”

“I had the shakes again a week or so ago. Headaches. Swore a bit more than usual at some new recruits. Nothing really remarkable.”

“Right.”

“Are you considering—”

“No. I’ve no time for it.”

“You could make time.”

“Not if he wants me following him about, I can’t. Won’t be useful without it.”

“You will,” Rutherford argued. “You’d have to get used to a slightly different skill set, but what we’ve learned is still of benefit. If new warriors are joining us, they’re bound to have fighting styles you can pull from even without lyrium.”

“Doubt it. You know what they say about an old mabari and new tricks.”

Rutherford backed out a laugh. “If you were an old dog, they’d have taken you out back and shot you by now. You’d have bitten children and brayed at all hours and been a general nuisance.”

“It’s possible.”

“Look, I’m not saying you have to do anything, but what I am saying is it wouldn’t be too late. You’re hardly the way you were back in Kirkwall. Sam. And you have someone who cares about you who can help you through it.”

“I’m sure that’s just what Del wants to do. Save the world while playing nursemaid to me.”

“How can you be sure it isn’t? You’ve meant the world to him ever since he first laid eyes on you.”

“Then I shouldn't like to change his mind by wearing out my welcome.”

Rutherford rolled his eyes. “Suit yourself," he said, polishing off his ale and moving away from the bar. "I’m still asking again next month, you know.”

Samson snorted. “Yes, well, why not be entirely predictable?”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What Del talks about what he would prefer his life to be like is nearly identical to what the Hunter says in DA:I Multiplayer. It's a phrase I heard over and over one night while playing, and I figured it works here. Del sort of wants the same thing most people want. A life that's good with very few complications. And obviously with Samson.
> 
> The last chapter will be up tomorrow afternoon (Saturday).


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Del and Samson meet the Iron Bull.

*

Their arrival at the Storm Coast was a rather dull one despite the rain and promise of more troublesome bandits from Scout Harding.

Del did a decent job of maintaining his dignity until they found the giant spiders in a dwarven cavern. Then he’d done his usual impression of a bewildered squirrel, and tried to bring Samson into the routine as if he were a tree to hide in. Eventually Del had stopped bleating like a little lamb in distress. This was, of course, once the spiders were dead and after Samson had focused on, well, snuggling was the only word for it. Much to Samson’s personal dismay.

“That brings back memories,” Varric said cheerfully before going back to killing the damned things. “Hawke used to scream just like that whenever one landed on his head.”

Samson grunted, hefting Del up into his arms and kissing his cheek. He wasn’t trying to defend Del, not exactly, and yet… “To be fair, most of us would scream were that the case.”

“Do more than scream,” Sera muttered as she gathered up arrows. “Did more back there.”

“I wouldn’t shriek in such a manner,” Cassandra said. 

“Nor would I,” Solas put in. “I cannot imagine you screaming either, Captain.”

“I’d scream on the inside,” Samson assured them. “Then I’d beat the shit out of the spider.”

“Same here,” Varric said. “You can say you wouldn’t, and maybe it’s true for these spiders. But they’ve got nothing on the kind we’re bound to encounter when—”

“That’s precisely the sort of pep talk we don’t need,” Samson said, glaring mildly. And, despite how ridiculous they looked, he stalked out of the cave with Del.

Standing out by the coastline, and watching the water, he gave Del a few minutes to cling to him. Then he cleared his throat. “So are you going to recover from this or…”

“No one said there would be spiders.”

“Actually… The Requisition Officer did. I think you’ll find.”

“Whose side are you on anyway?” Del asked, sounding a bit huffy. “Put me down this instant.”

Samson rolled his eyes, setting Del down and making an effort to appear sympathetic. “All I meant was she asked about anti-venom. Said we needed spider ichor for that.”

Del was having none of it. He crossed his arms, looking rather sullen and recalcitrant.

“All right,” Samson relented. “I’m sorry. All right? And you’re fine. I’ve got you and you’ve got me. I’ll keep defending you from surprise spiders, you know that.”

“You will,” Del admitted with a sigh. “I do know that.”

“Maybe you should gather some spindleweed before we find this Iron Bull. Settle your nerves and—”

Del was back to glaring at him. “I am not hysterical. I am afraid of spiders, and you are mocking me.”

“I am not.”

“I’m going off alone. You wait for the others.”

Samson sighed, watching Del leave him behind as he headed further along the shore. Once Del was out of sight, Samson shook his head. He set to gathering spindleweed on his own knowing Del would want more of the stuff later on. And if that wasn’t pathetic, Samson had no idea what was.

It wasn’t too long before there was a violent shriek, and suddenly Del was back to clinging to him again.

“More spiders?” Samson asked, rising from his crouch and bringing Del up along with him.

“No," Del said, sounding entirely out of sorts. "There's... Samson... There's a dragon fighting a giant.”

“This just isn’t your day,” Samson said soothingly, as he turned to face him. He petted Del’s cheek and held up the plants he’d harvested. “Spindleweed?”

Del frowned and then laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Then we’re perfect for each other.”

Del colored slightly, taking the spindleweed as if it was a fancy bouquet from a secret admirer. “We really are, at times.”

Once the others left the cave and joined them, Del put the spindleweed in his satchel. He nodded curtly and then headed off again. Samson followed, hoping they were moving towards where ever this Qunari would be and not in the completely opposite direction.

But it wasn’t too long before Samson could make out a skirmish taking place near a fire and several beached boats. 

He’d seen his fair share of Qunari, but this one… Well, he seemed a bit like how Solas was compared to other elves. Some sort of bewildering anomaly that you made you feel slightly ashamed for thinking that a whole race of people could only be a fixed number of things because they had pointy ears and giant horns.

The Iron Bull introduced himself with a good deal more cheer than any Qunari in Kirkwall had shown. And as he explained himself, he seemed… nice enough. For a secret spy, anyway. 

Samson wasn’t about to trust him, of course. For one thing, Del seemed to like him almost immediately. And for another, Qunari were devious and this seemed like the type you sent out to gather recruits. Because if this guy was a Qunari, how bad could that lot be?

“If you’re to be my bodyguard then… How do you fare against giant spiders and dragons?” Del asked. This was after he had offered up more serious questions concerning the Ben-Hassrath and the unusual arrangement the Iron Bull had in mind.

The Iron Bull grinned. “Will there be a lot of those?”

“It seems likely.”

“I am awesome at killing things.”

“And if I sort of…run the other way from the spiders?”

Cassandra snorted, and Del blushed.

“Cowardice while staring down giant spiders… I’d let that slide. Leaves more for me. But if there’s dragons, we gotta kill ‘em. Eventually. Probably should do some prep work first. Not much for that, but it’s safer to be prepared. Might need a larger group though,” Bull said considering all of them. “Dragons are tough.”

“You’re hired.”

With some regret, the Iron Bull only had a bit of alcohol from one of the casks before he left the bulk of the disposal and clean-up to his crew. He left instructions for them to go directly to Haven once they were no longer hung-over. Then the Iron Bull followed along amiably at the back of his new group, indifferent in a number of ways to the way the others didn’t seem all that eager to welcome him with open arms. 

“I get the feeling I just stole your job,” he said to Samson, sitting down next to him. 

They’d stopped to have a meal. While Solas prepared some sort of stew for lunch, Cassandra began collecting iron off of cliff walls. Varric was doing something to his crossbow and Sera was fixing a few arrows. Del had wandered off to gather more spindlewood, and Samson had been careful not to comment or have any sort of reaction to this decision whatsoever. Instead he stared at the fire while Solas cooked.

Samson snorted. “Hardly. I’m not for hire.”

“Then I get the feeling I’m getting paid to do whatever it is that you’re doing for free.”

“Perhaps a certain percentage of the more menial aspects of my duties.” And at that moment, he sounded so much like Rutherford that Samson had to resist the sudden urge to hurl himself into the sea.

The Qunari chuckled. “Right. The role you’ve been assigned.”

“Precisely, and I—”

“Shit. Hold that thought.”

It was startling how quickly the Iron Bull could move, and that was probably why it took Samson a handful of seconds to realize what he was running towards.

Del was clinging to a boulder and coughing up water. And he was clearly losing a fight against an enormous wave that had swept over the shore as he’d bent down to gather plants.

The Iron Bull hauled Del up with one hand, lifting him far higher into the air than was strictly necessary. He patted Del’s back as Del coughed some more. “Do you not know how to swim or something?” he asked, but his tone wasn’t judgmental. Just curious.

“I don’t,” Del admitted timidly. He blinked when the Iron Bull set him down very gently. He shivered from the cold water, wincing in anticipation of something far worse than the light pat he received. 

“Probably should learn, huh? Until then, how about you stop picking flowers and hang out over there with your crew?”

“All right. Um… Thank you, the Iron Bull.”

“You’re welcome. Just don’t get weird about it.”

“Weird?” 

“You can be grateful just… That was free of charge, okay? I don’t like getting paid to save lives. Cheapens it.”

Del smiled. He didn’t ever think poorly of anyone for long, and the whole experience had probably endeared the Iron Bull to him. “Oh. Of course.”

“And drink a health potion, boss. I didn’t offer my services just to have you drown an hour into employing me. Would fuck up my reputation forever.”

Del chuckled weakly. “All right.” He hugged Samson briefly before scurrying to comply with the Iron Bull’s request.

“You’re quick,” Samson said gruffly, wanting to thank the Qunari but not knowing how. Del just had done as much, and it seemed bizarre to thank someone like the Iron Bull for anything. “Observant. And you were nice about it.”

The Iron Bull shrugged, bending down to pick up Del’s water-logged satchel. “Yeah, well, he seems like a good kid. In over his head, and I don’t just mean the way he was doing his best to drink the Waking Sea. But he knows that. No sense beating him up for the things he can’t control.”

“That’s good of you.”

“Costs me nothing to be good,” the Iron Bull pointed out, handing Samson Del’s bag. “You should go look after him. Unless that’s another aspect of your duties you’re willing to relinquish.”

“Not even remotely.”

“Shame,” the Iron Bull said lightly. He didn’t seem very upset about it, truth be told, but then he’d only just met Del. Poor bastard Qunari couldn’t have understood how unfortunate he was. “I wouldn’t have charged him for that either.”

Samson shook his head, walking away and wondering if the pun had been intentional. He rather suspected – Maker help him— that it had been.

Del was still shivering by the fire.

It was a bit of relief to see the others weren’t giving him a hard time. Quite the contrary, in fact. Sera had given him a blanket that Samson suspect belonged to Cassandra. Solas had made him a cup of tea, which he’d apologetically handed to Del as if he was giving him a mug of poison.

Samson sat down next to him, brushing warm fingers over Del’s cold cheeks. He put an arm around him and kissed his hair. “I’m glad you’re all right.”

“I am too.”

“We should consider camp soon,” Cassandra pointed out, looking uncertain as to how to be comforting. But her tone was fairly kind if not exactly warm. “There is much to do on the Storm Coast, and yet our more pressing matters are elsewhere.”

Del nodded. “Redcliffe,” he agreed. “Um. And where ever the templars are.”

“Therinfal Redoubt.”

“Right. That place.” Del sipped the tea, making a face. “Will there be hot chocolate at camp?”

“I am uncertain.”

“A pity. I’d have liked that better, I think. No offense, Solas.”

“None taken.”

“Gee,” Varric quietly muttered as bowls of some sort of vegetable stew were passed around. “What side will he pick?”

*

That night, when they were in their tent, Samson let Del curl up in his lap. Samson stroked his hair, frowning a bit when Del’s exhale was still somewhat shaky. “You’re safe now,” he said gently. 

“Safe and useless.”

Poor thing sounded a bit depressed. Samson kissed Del’s hair and pulled him closer. There wasn’t much room left between them, but Del liked to be held tight the same way he liked to be held down. 

“I don’t want to be like this.”

“Del, you lived in a series of rooms your whole life.”

“And?”

“And it’s hardly surprising you don’t know how to do certain things.”

“But… I can’t do _anything_.”

“That isn’t even remotely true.”

Del scoffed, looking down at the ground and then at their shared bedroll. “Name one thing I can do well.”

“Magic.”

“That’s cheating. I am magic.”

“You can make me happy. And you can close rifts. Maybe I should reverse the order of those because I know the first one isn’t a bit glamorous and most would say it wasn’t the least bit important but…”

“It is,” Del said quietly. “You make me happy too.”

“And you can learn,” Samson insisted. “You can learn, and so I’ll teach you how to swim. But tonight? Tonight you can stop thinking anyone here would be a better job if they got some weird green thing on their hand and a free amnesia-inducing trip to the Fade.”

Del nodded, biting his lip when he finally looked up.

“You don’t look convinced,” Samson observed.

“I still feel… foolish about what happened.”

“Don’t. Honestly, there’s worse things than reacting poorly to spiders and waves.”

“More embarrassing things?”

“Of that,” Samson said, kissing Del’s cheek, “I’ve no doubt.”

“You think I can do this?” Del asked. His wide blue eyes were focused on Samson’s face as if he was trying to detect when the other man would lie. “Save the world, I mean?”

“You, sweetheart, are capable of anything,” Samson replied, voice low and sincere. 

“You believe that,” Del whispered, looking relieved.

“‘Course I do. What sort of horrible bastard would I be if I didn’t? No, you wouldn’t know,” Samson realized before Del could say anything. “So I’ll tell you. I’d be the sort of horrible bastard you ought to kick right out of bed and have nothing to do with. Never be saddled with someone who thinks you’re worthless, Del. Ever. You get rid of them like you got rid of that woman in Orlais.”

“I don’t want to be rid of you,” Del insisted. “And you’re not like that at all.”

“I know, I know,” Samson murmured. He smiled a bit as Del kissed him several times in a row. Along his cheek then his jawline and then along his throat, adding a little nip here and there as well as a bit of nuzzling. 

“Thank you. For caring as much as you do.”

Caring. Is that what this was? Samson nodded, trying not to think of better words for what they were doing. Not because he didn’t want to, but because, well, one day he might not deserve this. And then where would he be if he’d admitted to something like love? Then again, maybe he’d feel even worse because for the life of him he had no idea what “caring as much as you do” amounted to. Was it even enough?

“No trouble,” he said gruffly. “I think you also might consider that you’re looking at this all wrong.”

“How’s that?”

“Look at who has managed to save the world before you? Kids about your age from backwater nowhere. It’s like this is your destiny,” Samson said with a good-natured smirk. “Besides which… Honestly, how hard could it be to do a better job than the arseholes currently pretending that’s what they’re about?”

Del laughed. He kissed Samson once more before settling back against him and closing his eyes. “I think though,” he murmured sometime later, “I’d prefer it if you were my destiny. Not the world. Just you.”

“Having me is nothing as glamorous as all that,” Samson insisted. He gently maneuvered them backwards, down onto the bedrolls. 

Del kept clutching at him, even as his breathing evened out. 

Samson sighed quietly, making sure Del’s head was resting lightly against Samson's chest. “But,” he added, running fingers through Del's hair and half-hoping Del was asleep. The other half of Samson was desperately wishing that Del would still hear him so there would be no need to repeat it later. “But for as long as you want me, I’m yours.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about not posting this earlier. It's been a very busy day. Thanks for reading! :)

**Author's Note:**

> (The title comes from "To His Coy Mistress" by Andrew Marvell)


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